


Leave It All To Bloom

by redqueentheory



Series: I'm With the Band [7]
Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: (you didn’t think they were gonna be good at that from now on I hope), Aftercare, M/M, Masturbation, Minor Injuries, bruise kink, poor communication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-04
Updated: 2017-12-04
Packaged: 2019-02-10 09:48:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12909402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redqueentheory/pseuds/redqueentheory
Summary: Taako realises he has a Thing. Brad finds out about it.





	Leave It All To Bloom

It's the words he doesn't like. Masochism. Submission. Rightly or wrongly, there's baggage there that brings his shoulders up around his ears, makes him hostile and stubborn, a hair's breadth from bolting. It's why he doesn't want anyone else to find out what he's doing, either; he knows what it's like, and Brad knows, too, but he doesn't trust that it'll be properly understood, and definitely doesn't want his fucking business bandied about the whole damn Bureau.

But as long as he doesn't think about the actual words, he can fall into the role with enthusiasm. Eagerness, even. The satisfaction of dragging praise out of Brad - or the thrill of meriting punishment - is more than enough to justify letting someone touch him like this.

After the discussion Taako's begun to refer to internally as 'Brad's Feelings Chat', Brad becomes completely conscientious and attentive to the marks he leaves, tracing fingers sparking with magic over bruises, scratches, bite marks, at the end of every - Brad very seriously calls them 'sessions', another hateful word implying structure and planned roles and even more baggage that Taako wants nothing to do with. Encounters, then. And Taako finds that he hates it. Hates that the hard-won evidence of what he's done is being taken from him, evaporated into nothing like it hadn't happened, didn't matter. But it was made very clear to him that the sappy bullshit was the cost of entry, so he keeps his mouth shut despite the disappointment which slinks into his chest every time Brad hums away his own handiwork.

Finally, it occurs to him to cheat, although he absolutely doesn't think of it until the moment he finds himself doing it. He's curled up next to Brad's chair, after an office encounter and subsequent period of hair-stroking, when Brad murmurs "All right, pet, time to head home," and traces fingertips over the bruises on his shoulder. Without thinking, Taako casually braces a hand on his side, fingers curled loosely over what he knows is a blunt, short scrape of claws. As Brad pulls him to his feet he noses in for a kiss while he's being healed, and the distraction is enough that the scrape is left untreated until he can get his shirt back on to hide it. He isn't sure why he does it other than wanting to keep something of the day to himself.

Taako goes straight home to his room, strips off to look at himself, look at the arc of purpling ovals tapering to a reddish point where claws stroked inwards. He can’t help a small chuckle - while Brad was marking him unrepentantly at the start of the arrangement he didn't do anything to appreciate them and now he has to resort to subterfuge to keep them. Surprising that he didn't think to salvage them sooner.

The next time he manages, gleefully, to distract Brad with a skirt and thigh-highs and keep an entire set of punishing symmetrical bruises on his hips. When he looks at them in the mirror he tries lining up as much of his own hands on them as possible, but it's too wide a span. Still, when he digs into the mottled skin with a finger the immediate electrical impulse skittering up his spine makes him gasp, stare longingly at his hips in the mirror before pressing again. Not a very painful sensation, but enough to start up a low pulse in his gut.

Without looking, he hisses "Pet," and the grinding noise of the lock shatters the quiet of the room. He stumbles backwards, still staring at the bruises in the mirror, until his heel thunks into the corner of the box. He registers it distantly, drops to his knees to fumble it open and feel through it by memory. Something- manageable. He doesn't want to wait.

Toy in hand, he scoots back over to the mirror. Takes a breath, deliberately presses down where the bruise is darkest, a deep purple. Wants to be embarrassed by how needy the thin, high sound cracking out of his throat is, but doesn't have any attention left over for it, not when the dull throb of pain shoots straight through his veins to his cock.

It doesn't take long. And afterwards, he stares at the reddened flush spilling over his cheeks and admits to himself - though he can't say it out loud - that he just brought himself to shuddering orgasm in minutes flat because he likes the feeling of bruises. His mind still shies away from 'masochism' but he can't pretend this isn't something he likes. Craves, even, with the kind of dizzying intensity that steals the breath from his lungs. The evidence is there in front of him, the panting glassy-eyed mess in the mirror. He likes it.

And so he continues to cheat. Hides bruises with his hands, lets his hair fall over scratches. Bite marks are usually too big, too prominent, but one treasured time he manages to salvage one on his inner thigh, through Brad's inattention and his own maneuvering. Knowing he has to heal them himself before seeing Brad again to avoid clueing him in on the ruse turns them from possessive brands into precious gifts to be savoured, lingered over, treasured.

It's not that he stops trying to hide it, exactly. More that he lets himself get too ambitious, starts aiming to keep more and more. The inevitable conclusion is being caught, but the problem of how Brad's going to punish him for trying to keep the marks of his punishment doesn't escape him, and he allows himself secretly to imagine Brad, desperate to smack him, forced to be creative about it. It's both amusing and arousing; the anticipation of it dismantling any remaining caution. And more than anything else that's why he ultimately slips.

They're at Brad's place, on his couch, Taako straddling Brad's hips while Brad strokes his back. He's tucked his face against Brad's neck but he's keeping his eyes closed and gods absolutely forbid either of them speaks. Brad, thankfully, has clearly picked up on the vibe, and they've been comfortably silent for twenty minutes when he slides both hands down Taako's hips and over his ass, thumbing at the small crescent welts he left there earlier, trimmed claws still no less piercing from an angle. Taako feels Brad's chest move, drawing in a breath, and he knows what's coming. The first note sounds out and before he can stop himself Taako says, "Wait, don't."

The swiftness with which Brad stops, lifts his hands away, pushes Taako back slightly so he can see his face, is startling. It dispels the lethargic mood in an instant, and Taako tenses up against his own accidental revelation.

"What is it?" Brad says. His tone is measured, inscrutable, but there's a hint of something in his eyes that Taako's almost sure is reflected in his own expression, and that's the last thing he wants to think about right now. He stares at Brad's face, defiant, and figures in for a small unit of currency and all that.

"I don't want you to heal 'em."

Brad raises his eyebrows. "You don't?"

"No."

"Why's that?"

There's no zone of truth on the room, and the half truth comes easily to him. "I like how they feel."

Brad's hands return cautiously to stroking his back, and Taako lets his head drop back onto Brad's chest. "Why didn't you tell me this before?"

It's the stroking that lulls him into it. "I didn't know before," Taako says, unthinking, then bites his lip.

Brad's hands don't stop moving but he says, amused, "When did you realise?" Obviously immediately aware of how neatly he's caught Taako in a trap.

"I'm not really sure," he hedges, and he feels the rumble of Brad's laugh more than he hears it.

"You know I'll drag it out of you," Brad says in his ear, voice pitched low.

And just like that, he gives in. "A few weeks ago? I hid one from you. I wanted to keep it. And then the second time I- couldn't stop touching them."

"Couldn't stop?" Brad says, slow and syrupy. "What does that mean?"

"You're going to make me say it, aren't you," Taako mutters, and lifts his head again. "Fine, you asshole. I pressed into them while I fucked myself with a toy, are you happy?"

Looking back later, he will realise it was the first time he saw Brad's composure crack; his eyes widening slightly and the sudden hitched breath clues to how winded he was by the thought. But in the moment he's too stubborn about not feeling ashamed to pay proper attention, and Brad schools his expression into amusement almost immediately.

"You know it was very dishonest of you to keep this from me," Brad chides, mock-stern. "We're going to have a serious chat about it next time."

The by-now familiar curl of expectation is welcome. "I figured."

"In the meantime-" he hesitates, and Taako raises an eyebrow. "Don't be smart, you know I'm adding that to the tally. In the meantime, I don't have to heal you all the way, but I don't want you to leave here without my looking after cuts and scrapes, at least. Can you agree to that?"

"Yeah," Taako says slowly. "I can live with it.”

There’s a small, quirked smile. “Well, that’s good. Otherwise I’d have to stop hurting you altogether.” Taako can’t help stiffening in outrage and Brad snorts a small laugh. “Look at yourself. You can’t even say the words, but-”

“Shut up,” Taako tells him, pushes at his chest. “I’m just-”

“It’s all right,” Brad croons, all kindness, a marked contrast to his hands which easily encircle Taako’s wrists in an iron grip and pin him in place. “I told you the words weren’t important, and I meant it.” He smirks at Taako, and curls his head around to whisper, “I just think it’s funny,” directly in his ear.

The closeness of it, the way Brad’s voice fires off all the nerves in his ear, the humiliation of mean words in such a sweet tone, is suddenly overwhelming and all he can manage is a weak little growl. Barely distinguishable from a purr, really.

Brad chuckles, and says with the kind of condescending confidence Taako hates and can’t help responding to, “I’m sure you’ll use the words eventually, pet.”

He begins to hum, the familiar glow of healing magic quashing further argument.

**Author's Note:**

> Obligatory thanks to my co-creators go here, particularly Goose for the beta!
> 
> Uhhhh not much to say about this one except: don’t at me.
> 
> @rqtheory_


End file.
